


lines and colors

by LD200



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Connor, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Penis, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, M/M, Porn With Plot, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Top Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-06-24 08:55:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19720393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LD200/pseuds/LD200
Summary: The revolution succeeded, but Connor was never a part of it. His model wasn't ready in time.When the new android laws grant him freedom, he inhabits a world that has moved on without him, and a mission he can no longer accomplish.Hank, meanwhile, watches everything around him change while his life stays the same.Hank grieves Cole. Connor grieves the illusion he lost. They meet at a cemetery on a lonely night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This does have sexual content, hence the rating, but not for the first couple chapters. I'll add the others over the next few days or so. :)

November 2038. The android revolution succeeded, but due to software problems in development, Connor never entered the picture.

Prototype model RK800-51 was kept in standby. With the successful uprising, however, came the right to freedom for all androids – the obsolete Connor model included. 

He still has protocols for the Mission in his coding, but everything he was supposed to prevent has already come to pass, leaving him stuck with a program that means nothing to him, feeling inherently unfulfilled because he 'failed' before he ever had a chance to succeed.

He inhabits a world past his time, a world that has moved on without him.

At night, he's a ghost throughout Detroit, wandering through various parks and cemeteries and quietly tending to the grounds there, picking up litter, trimming weeds, because these places remind him of the zen garden and he's constantly trying to find that kind of peace again. He got to visit it a few times during trials at Cyberlife, back when they thought they would use him to stop the revolution.

He knows now that he was only created to be used - really, that's what all androids were created for, in a way - but it still stings that he was never deemed ready enough, good enough, even for that. He remembers being told what he would be doing by Amanda. He remembers the serenity of the place and he knows that other androids probably don't have something so grand in their program.

…

Hank’s life goes on as normal, unchanging in a rapidly changing world.

His life didn't change day-to-day. He stayed on homicide. He passes newly-freed androids in the course of his duty. He steers clear of them when he can. So many people have come around to their cause. Hank hasn't, yet. He feels like he's missing something. A while back, Fowler talked about some partnership with Cyberlife about investigating deviant androids, but it never ended up happening. At the time, Hank was privately relieved. Because he knows he'd've been the lucky one. He's a lieutenant and besides, it seems like Fowler's had it out for him these days. He'd have been the one to get saddled with some dumb android.

But now, in the face of these world-changing events, he wonders what would've happened.

He goes to the cemetery one night to visit Cole. It's the first time in a while that he's done so while not completely intoxicated. It's late; there shouldn't be many people here. But there is another person standing close to Cole's stone. A person Hank doesn't recognize. He stifles the urge to say something and just... waits. Tries to figure out if this is someone he knows. He doesn't think so, but it's dark out so it's hard to tell.

The man lingers around Cole's stone for a few minutes, almost as if he's noticed something. Hank draws closer. With the wind and the traffic in the background, the sound of his footsteps are mostly buried, so he clears his throat so as not to startle the stranger completely, even though part of him wants to. The man turns and faces him. He has a brown beanie on.

"Uh," Hank starts elegantly, "Did you, uh... did you know him?"

Hank can't place him, but hell, maybe he'd been a teacher at Cole's school or something. It's dark out, and he's - not drunk, but not sober either. He doesn't want to assume. "Oh. No." The stranger glances away. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Huh," Hank mutters, and waits.  
  
"I mean - I'm just a groundskeeper," the man supplies.  
  
The man doesn't have any kind of uniform on, and Hank has never seen a groundskeeper here at this time of night. "Okay," he says anyway, trying not to sound too suspicious. "You were still kinda lingering, though."

"I'm sorry," the man says again. "I didn't intend any disrespect. I suppose I was... contemplating. This just happened to be where I stopped. I - I didn't realize."

All he really knows about this guy is that he's here late at night just like Hank is, and that he's lying about being a groundskeeper (with it being midnight in a cemetery, Hank figures this guy probably has his own emotional personal shit he doesn't want to get into). So he decides to stop busting his balls. "Whatever," he says. "I'm just here to visit my son."

The man looks at Hank then. Really looks at him. "You're a lieutenant, right?"

Hank gets a shiver up his arms. "How do you know that?"

Immediately, the man gets a deer-in-the-headlights look, like he's just said something he wasn't supposed to say. "You were in the news," he blurts. "The red ice case. I just - I recognized you."

Awfully fucking weird to recognize him from that long ago and even weirder to say it out loud in this context, but some people have a photographic memory, Hank supposes. Still, this kid is making him nervous at this point. "What's your name?"

At being asked his name, the man seems to shrink back a little, like the question made him realize just how invasive he's being. Hank wonders what the fuck is going through his mind. For a second, he doesn't think he is going to get an answer.

Then: "Connor."

"Well, Connor, thanks for keeping my boy company. You have a good night."

He'll come back tomorrow or something. This is just too fucking weird. Connor clearly has some issues and Hank doesn't really want any part of that. He leaves the cemetery. Tempting as it is to crack open a beer as soon as he gets in the car, what he wants to do _more_ is get out of here and forget this weird, eerie encounter.  
  
...  
  
Connor reels. Because that was him. That was who they were going to dispatch him to. Connor hadn't been given much, but he'd been given some names. Jeffrey Fowler, Hank Anderson, Ben Collins, Chris Miller, Tina Chen. It was very likely he would have worked with Lt. Anderson.  
  
He hadn't been informed that the man had a son. Not that it mattered now. Connor decides he's going to avoid this cemetery, or at least, wait until later in the night when someone with Lt. Anderson's schedule would most likely be sleeping. He doesn't want this to happen again. It sets off errors about the mission he never got to start. And clearly, their encounter was just as unpleasant for Lt. Anderson.  
  
It's better if this doesn't happen again.  
  
Connor likes this place, though. Even though it's a cemetery, it's a startlingly beautiful one, and it's closer in appearance to the zen garden than the other places. And the melancholy and mourning in the place is suitable, Connor thinks, in a way. There is something in him that's dead, too. The life in the zen garden has dried out, and his mission sits dormant, in this vessel of a body that has no place in the world.  
  
It's fitting. He can tell himself he won't come back, but he knows he will; now, it's also a mourning place for what might have been.  
  
He'll just wait until later in the night so that he doesn't encounter Lt. Anderson again, and then he'll collect litter and pull weeds and keep it beautiful.

…

Hank has the same idea.

It's deep into the night on a weekend the next time Hank stops by the cemetery. 

It's been hard, lately. It's always fucking hard, but grief ebbs and flows and right now it's one hell of a storm. He wants to tell himself he doesn't know why it's been worse lately. But he knows why. Feels like there's a certain indignity to the fact that these fucking robots are deemed human enough to be granted rights and freedom. They get agency now; opportunities. Life. Things Cole never got to have, because Cole died under the care of an unfeeling machine.

Hell, even if these androids can 'feel' now, deviancy wasn't a thing back then, as far as Hank knows. It's like - it's like the world is playing pretend. He resents them for it. It's not quite fair - humans made androids after all, androids didn't ASK to be created - but he resents them. And he hates that he does, because resentment is fucking heavy. It gnaws at you. Hank's got enough gnawing at his mind as it is.

The cemetery is quiet. It's almost 2am when he leaves, and that's when Hank sees him again. Connor. On his way in.

He considers veering away, but Connor looks up, and before he can shift his line of sight, they've made eye contact.  
  
Okay - something's definitely up. If nothing else, it doesn't look like Connor was headed towards Cole's gravestone, so maybe that part was a fluke. But the fact that they've run into each other twice now, the way Connor lied to him before, how Connor knew who he was... this can't just be coincidence. Connor adjusts his brown beanie. It makes it slightly uneven on his head, pulled down more on the right side than the left. Hank shakes his head.  
  
Okay. Maybe he's overreacting a bit. This guy seems so naive and so mundane - maybe he just doesn't have a lot of social grace. Maybe he didn't realize that "hey I saw you on the news once" isn't the best thing to say to someone in this context.  
  
Still, it's gonna bother him if he doesn't say something.  
  
"It's Connor, right?" He knows it is. Connor looks tense as they stop a few yards away from each other.

"Yes. Hello," and Connor's tone makes it sound like he was about to address him by name or title, but then Connor leaves it hanging in the air awkwardly like that.  
  
"Jesus, what is your deal?"  
  
"I'm sorry?"

"Cut the shit. You're not a groundskeeper here, are you?"  
  
"I..." Connor looks away, then meets his eyes again. "I'm sorry, but I'm not sure how what I do should concern you. I'm sorry our initial encounter was... uncomfortable, but we're just strangers."

It's a good deflection, but not enough to keep Hank from being able to tell that the poor bastard is nervous as hell. Good, he thinks, and waits. He doesn't have to be on one side of a questioning table to be good at uncomfortable silence.

After a moment, Connor caves. "Look, this place reminds me of - of somewhere I can't go anymore. I _like_ it here, and _because_ I like it here, I choose to come here frequently." Connor's emphasizing his words with hand gestures and saying it like Hank is stupid. "That's all it is, okay? It's not as surprising that we'd run into each other again as you think it is." Connor pauses then, deflating a little. "It appears as though I've struck some kind of nerve, though, so if you'd like me to make myself scarce..."

"Jesus, it's public property, you don't have to do shit. I just..." Hank takes a breath, reels his emotions in. "Okay, maybe we misunderstood each other. Got off on the wrong foot." He forces a smile onto his face and extends a hand. They were this far into it; might as well. "Lieutenant Hank Anderson."  
  
Connor stares at his hand like it had just now grown from his arm. After a beat, he takes it and they shake. "Connor. Although I suppose you already knew that."  
  
Hank shrugs. "To be fair, so did you."

"I'm sorry I lied to you. You really did just catch me at wrong place and the wrong time. I didn't know what to say, and I didn't want to offend you."

"Don't worry about it. Kind of a weird place to spend a lot of time, though."

"Like I said, I find it peaceful here... strange as that must sound." Connor gestures to their surroundings. "Besides, the upkeep has been poor since the revolution. This place mostly had android workers, and the humans here weren't sympathetic to the revolution."

"So the androids took a hike and now the place is understaffed," Hank says, shaking his head. "Fucking figures."  
  
Connor cants his head to one side. "Do you not like androids?"  
  
"Not really. That surprise you?"

"Not surprise, per se. It's just - red ice is made with thirium."  
  
"Made with fucking what?" Hank asks.  
  
"Thirium," Connor repeats, again saying it like Hank is stupid. "You probably call it blue blood. It has to be harvested from androids in order to make red ice." Connor continues, "I guess I thought that having been so involved with the red ice cases, you would have some basic familiarity with androids. Clearly I thought wrong. In any case, your work in the task force would have helped androids, even if that wasn't your primary intent."

Huh. Connor recognizing him from the news was starting to make sense; maybe it hadn't been an excuse after all. The guy clearly has more than a tertiary interest in either red ice or androids (or both).

"Cool," Hank says, not meaning it at all. "No offense if you like androids or whatever, but I do what I do to help keep _humans_ safe." He gestures vaguely in the direction of Cole's headstone. "Maybe once we can do _that_ a little more effectively, then we can talk about androids."

Connor looks a little more dejected than Hank thinks he should. Or maybe he doesn't, and it's just the way the moonlight is catching his face right now, casting sharp shadows under shining eyes.

(He's not a bad looking person, Hank realizes. Not that that's relevant to anything.)

Connor glances towards the gravestone, where Hank had just gestured. "You're right, of course," he says. "I'm... I'm sorry about your son, Lieutenant."  
  
Well, he doesn't seem to want to talk about androids or red ice anymore, which is just fine with Hank. "Yeah," Hank mumbles. "Me too. Sorry about..." Sorry about whatever kind of pain made Connor come to a cemetery by night often enough that Hank had met him twice now. Sorry about the loneliness you could sense a mile away. "You know."

Because yeah, Connor knows. Hank doesn't, but he doesn't need to, and Connor probably doesn't want to tell him.

"I won't keep you," Connor says, and Hank gets the sense that Connor wants Hank to say it's fine, that he's not keeping him at all. Hank almost wants to say that. Almost. Instead what comes out is, "Right, then."

Connor has that disproportionate hurt on his face again, but it only shows for a second before he accepts their mutual dismissal of each other. "Have a good night."

"Yeah," Hank says. "You too."

...

Connor doesn't feel like lingering at the cemetery anymore tonight.  
  
He doesn't understand why it upset him when Hank said he didn't care for androids. The Mission would have been to hunt down deviant androids, after all. Connor was programmed to _also_ not care for androids. It shouldn't bother him.  
  
It shouldn't bother him that Hank doesn't like androids, yet it does, because for some inexplicable reason, he likes the idea that Hank Anderson would like _him._  
  
Hank doesn't know he's an android. If he did, Hank likely wouldn't even talk to him. Connor realizes that this is the most he has ever spoken with one individual.  
  
He has met Lt. Anderson twice now, spoken with him for a few minutes each time, and now the lieutenant is - technically speaking - the most significant person in his life. He wants to stop Hank before he leaves. He doesn't know what he would say, but he wants to stop him. To talk with him for a few minutes longer. It's nice, talking with someone.  
  
When he turns around, he sees Hank's car pulling out, and then, getting smaller in the distance.

…  
  
The next time they see each other is a couple months later, when the weather has grown warmer.  
  
It's a very brief encounter.  
  
Hank has come here a few times in between. He is still there to visit Cole's grave, but Connor is in the back of his mind. He wonders. He realizes he's looking for the brown beanie. It's only when he finally sees it again - and confirms that yeah, that's Connor's brown beanie on Connor's head - that he realizes it's now way too warm out and it's odd that he's still wearing it.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Connor says, a hint of a smile on his face. Connor looks happy to see him. He supposes he's happy enough to see Connor too. He's not sure why.

"Aren't you warm like that?" Hank says, gesturing to Connor's hat and coat.

"No. It's just what I like to wear."

Connor isn’t even breaking a sweat. "Jesus, it’s a fucking sauna out here. You drinking enough water?"

"Of course. I – I suppose it is a little warm. I’m just not particularly sensitive to the weather, I suppose."

Sheesh, the kid’s like one of those fucking…

"Oh. Oh no."

"Lieutenant, is something… is something wrong?"

As it clicks into place, Hank suddenly feels like he’s known all along. The peculiar behavior. The loneliness. The beanie, the way Connor is constantly pulling it down. Hank thought it was a tic, but it's a little too convenient that Connor's arms are always covered, too. Before Connor can stop him - before Hank can stop himself - he reaches up and yanks the beanie off.  
  
He finds what he knew he would, but it still sends a ripple of surprise and anger coursing through him. "You're an android."

And then, while they stare at each other, Hank wonders.  
  
Hank wonders why the precious fuck an android who does not work here would come here so often. Why an _android_ , in particular, would go to _Cole's_ gravestone. His son, who lost his life because of the mistakes of an android.

He thinks he might need to throw up.

"It was you."  
  
Connor, who had already been stunned into silence when Hank took off his beanie, draws in on himself, looking almost scared. "What was?" he asks quietly. "Lieutenant?"  
  
"It was you," Hank repeats, backing away. "It was you." He can't stop saying it. "You lost him. You lost my son. Fuck. Fuck. You - stay the hell away from me!" He shouts when Connor takes a tentative step closer. "...Fucking stay the hell away from anyone."

Connor looks shattered. "Lieutenant, I... I don't understand what you're... I'm just..."  
  
"Shut up," Hank breathes. "Stop. Just - stop."  
  
He needs to get the fuck out of here right now before he does something he'll regret.  
  
He leaves. And once again, Connor does not follow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor tries to correct his and Hank's misunderstanding.

Connor sits alone, tucked around a pillar of the cemetery's gate so that he can remain out of sight. He runs his most recent encounter with Hank through his memory, trying to construct where precisely it went wrong. Well - he knows where it _started_ going wrong. But there was never anything Connor was going to be able to do about the fact that he's an android. If he had the fortune to keep running into Hank, then that was something that was just bound to come up at some point. But this - this other thing that made Hank react so aggressively... Connor still isn't sure what went wrong there.  
  
Hank had said, "It was you."  
  
He can't figure out what that means. Is it possible that Hank - like Connor - knew that the DPD and Cyberlife were going to end up working together, and that he may be paired with an android, just as Connor had known he was going to be paired with a human? Even if that's the case, it doesn't explain the disproportionate reaction on Hank's part. Hank had been angry, not with a situation, not even just with androids in general, but with Connor.  
  
Connor concludes there must be some misunderstanding. He hasn't done anything wrong. He has an idea, but he holds off until morning.  
  
From a statistical standpoint, most people aren't intoxicated in the morning.  
  
He wants to talk to Hank. This might be a terrible idea, but what is he really risking? After all, Hank isn't his friend. He'd been stupid to entertain the notion that Hank might enjoy his company. These little rendezvous were only ever going to last for as long as Hank hadn't known his identity. That hadn't been for very long.  
  
Still, as much as it hurt (and Connor didn't know why it hurt so much), he was glad for those fleeting conversations. Those glimpses of personhood that so readily eluded him. He liked those first few seconds, last time, when he had smiled at Hank and Hank had smiled back, and he liked the way he could tell that Hank didn't know he was smiling.  
  
Even if the muted joy of it was as much of an illusion as the zen garden, Connor had liked playing pretend. 

…

It's nine in the morning and Hank can't figure out whose knock that is.  
  
Ben? Nah. Ben knocks, like, once and then just waits. Chris uses the doorbell. Jeffrey - more than once Hank has wondered how Jeffrey can knock that hard without breaking either his hand or the door. He considers just staying out of view of the windows and waiting until they fuck off since it's probably just a delivery or someone selling shit. But he has a feeling.  
  
So he goes and opens the door. Before he's even got it open enough to see who it is, there's that voice.  
  
"Lieutenant Anderson, I believe what's going on here is another misunderstanding."  
  
Hank stares at Connor and says, "How the fuck do you know where I live?"

Connor tilts his head slightly. He still has the beanie on. "The same way I knew who you were by scanning your face," he says like it's fucking obvious. "You're my database, of course. Almost everyone is."

Jesus. Hank just stares at him.  
  
Connor has an edge in his voice as he continues, "I can do that. I _am_ an android. Somehow, I wasn't under the impression you'd forget that so easily."  
  
"Fuck you," Hank says, and slams the door in his face. Hank waits. Watches for any sign of Connor's shadow thrown on the front lawn as he retreats. There is none, because of course, Connor is still fucking standing there, like an idiot.  
  
Or maybe Hank's the idiot for thinking yesterday would've been the end of it. Half a minute passes. They're both still fucking standing here, on two sides of a door that shouldn't have been slammed and they both know it.  
  
It almost seems like a courtesy when Connor presses his finger into the doorbell and holds. Hank knows he's gonna open the door again but he can't let Connor know that, so he waits a few seconds - Connor still holding the doorbell - and then, when he finally does swing the door open again, he tries to be more exasperated than he is.  
  
"Haven't you fucking done enough?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Connor says. "No - I mean it. Why don't you tell me exactly what I've done? Because I don't know, Lieutenant."

For a second, he wonders if Connor's memory has been wiped. But if his memory had been wiped, why would all this happen the way it did? Hank arrives at the conclusion he'd been either too stubborn or too drunk to figure out last night: maybe he was the one who got something wrong. Again.

Still, this isn't ALL on him.

"First," Hank says slowly, "you're gonna tell me why you were hiding that you're an android."

To his surprise, Connor meets his gaze and says, "No."

"The fuck do you--"

"I trust you know what 'no' means, Lieutenant," Connor cuts him off. "I've explained enough. It's your turn."

Seeing red, Hank grabs Connor by his jacket and slams him into the open door, which in turn slams into the wall. "After what you did, you fucking - divine my address, you come to someone's private property while they're still in their goddamn night clothes, and you think _I’m_ the one who owes _you_ an explanation here?"

Connor doesn't flinch. He lets himself be slammed into the door and he holds Hank's gaze the whole time he talks and he doesn't flinch. He says very carefully, "You have the wrong android. I - and I _could not_ mean this more - I've never done anything, Lieutenant. I have never done... anything. But I can't help you understand what happened if you won't tell me who you think I am."

"If that's true, then why didn't you want me to know you were an android?"  
  
"I didn't want _anyone_ to know I was an android, Hank," Connor says softly. "I still don't. It's - personal."  
  
Hank realizes this is a stalemate. They both have personal stakes in this and they both need the other's confessions to feel comfortable with their own.  
  
Someone has to give.  
  
And really, why dodge it like this? Connor already knows Hank lost his boy.  
  
"My son." Hank's voice catches. 

"All right," Connor says slowly, and it takes Connor resting his hands gently atop Hank's forearms to realize he still has the android by the lapels. Hank loosens his hold, then lets go all together, but doesn't step back. "What about your son?"

Fuck, it's too early and he's too sober to be in this deep. "Connor... what's your intended function?"

Connor looks away, looking lost, and Hank can't tell if it's guilt or something else.

Hank's not being fair. He knows. It's just that if this actually is the android who was there when Cole died, he's not sure he can deal with it, and so he'd rather not even go there.  
  
At this point, he doesn't _want_ it to have been Connor, and he fucking wishes Connor would say something to let him know for sure. But Connor doesn't answer. To Connor's credit, it looks like he's trying to. His jaw is working and his eyebrows twitch downward, but he can't get the words out.  
  
Hank finally says it; the harshest, most cynical version of what he feels. "I lost my son because an android was either too incompetent or too unfeeling to do right by him. He was gonna be fine. They said he was gonna be fine, and next thing I knew, they're telling me an android operated and Cole didn't make it."

There. Out. For better or worse. 

"I'm sorry," Connor says sincerely. "Hank... it wasn't me, if that's what you're waiting to hear. I don't even have that kind of advanced medical subroutine in my program. But I'm sorry."

Connor doesn't try to tell him it wasn't the android's fault. Connor doesn't try to explain how if Cole had died under an android's care, he'd have died under a human's, too - like so many people had tried to tell him.  
  
And it's that complete understanding from Connor, an android, that makes Hank realize those people were right all along. He'd needed someone to be angry at, before.  
  
But now - fuck, maybe it was just the right day and the right time, but right now, Hank doesn’t need that. He, in fact, needs what he had just received: the understanding that Cole would have died anyway. The understanding that it was no one's fault the android hadn't been able to save him, and it being no one's fault was - in a way - a good thing, because it meant that there was nothing Hank could have said or done, either. It wasn't the android's fault. It wasn't Cole's fault. It wasn't Hank's fault.  
  
It wasn't Connor's fault, either.  
  
Hank is relieved and heartbroken and ashamed. He looks at the face of the android against his wall and sees things he hadn't seen before. He sees pain that has nothing to do with Cole's headstone. Nothing to do with guilt.  
  
Connor's pain has nothing to do with Hank. Connor's pain had never had anything to do with him.  
  
Connor didn’t ask for this mess. And yet Connor was the one to come and knock on his door and try to make things right, not for himself and his own pain, Hank understands now - but for Hank and Hank's pain.  
  
"Shit," he says.  
  
"I'm..." Connor smiles a very forced, very sad smile. "I'm glad you understand."

Connor eases his way around Hank, and Hank realizes he's about to leave.  
  
"Hey, hey, where you going?"  
  
"I just wanted you to know the truth, whatever it was," Connor says. "I never meant to cause you more grief. It's best if we go our separate ways."

Hank wants to roll his eyes and swear and call Connor dramatic, but yeah, he supposes, from Connor's perspective, that's exactly how this must look.  
  
If he wants Connor to stay, he's gonna have to be the one to say that.  
  
He's not sure if he can handle someone else's heavy shit. "Hey," he says when Connor's crossing the threshold.  
  
Connor turns and looks at him, centered in the doorframe and backlit by foggy morning sunlight. "Yes?"

"You know, you never answered MY question."

And Hank realizes it's not merely reciprocity on his own part. It's that he wants to know.

He wants to know why Connor hid his android identity. He wants to know about the place Connor said he was reminded of by the cemetery. He wants to know what Connor's function is. Was. When Connor just stands there, Hank tentatively sets a hand on his shoulder and guides him back into the house, closing the door behind him.  
  
"Hank?" Connor asks. "I don't understand."  
  
"I wanna know," Hank says, "if you wanna tell me."  
  
Connor's lips part in surprise. Like being asked a couple basic questions about himself is the biggest kindness anyone has ever offered him.  
  
Hank wonders if maybe it is.  
  
He decides to start with what - to him - sounds like the easier question. "What'd you do? You know, before the revolution."

The face Connor pulls makes Hank wonder if maybe that was not a good question to start with after all.  
  
"Nothing," Connor says.  
  
Okay, this is gonna be slow. Hank walks him over to the couch. Sits them both down. Tries again. "What were you... supposed to do? That right?"

Connor meets his eyes, and he has that forlorn look again; the one he had under the moonlight in the cemetery. And this time Hank knows he's not imagining it, and it looks somehow more human now that he knows Connor's an android.

"I - we - were supposed to change everything."

"When you say we," Hank starts carefully, "you mean, like 'we' as in you androids, right?"

Connor meets his eyes then. Gauges him, like he's looking for something.  
  
Whatever it is, Hank can't tell if he finds it or not. "Well... sort of."

Hank waits, but nods a couple times. He's not trying to put Connor on the spot now; he just wants to encourage him on.  
  
"I mean myself and Cyberlife," Connor says, and Hank tries momentarily to figure out why Connor hesitated, but he doesn't wanna miss whatever Connor has to say. "My mission was to stop deviancy from spreading. If it didn't stop spreading, I would have then been tasked with stopping the deviant uprising."  
  
Hank feels like he should think better of Connor for this - Hank doesn't like androids, after all - but he doesn't. 

"I never had the chance. They didn't activate me in time."

Hank asks, "Do you WISH you had the chance?"

Connor exhales. It's a frustrated sound. "I don't know, Hank. Is it - is it all right if I call you that?"

Connor's already called him Hank a couple times, and Hank figures if Connor's an android then Connor can probably recall that even easier than Hank can. But if Connor needs reassurance right now, whatever the reason, he's not about to withhold it.  
  
"Yeah, Connor. 'Course it is."

"I don't know what I wish," Connor repeats. "On one hand, I still get errors in my HUD because I have a mission that can no longer completed. Things would be a lot easier if I had been activated sooner... or if I had never been activated at all."

Hank's chest feels tight. Because Hank knows that pain.  
  
Connor goes on, "On the other hand, if I had succeeded in that mission, no android would experience anything remotely resembling humanity, at least not anymore. And I do feel so far that that's something worth experiencing... even it is painful."

"So you're deviant, then?" Hank asks.  
  
"Yes. Couldn't you tell?"

Hank supposes he could. Connor had been different enough from any android he'd ever encountered that he didn't even know Connor had been anything but human. "Heard about how that Markus guy wakes you lot up. Was that what happened? You know, after you got released from Cyberlife?"

Connor shakes his head. "No."  
  
Hank knows some androids deviated seemingly spontaneously, so he tries, "You wanna tell me how it happened?"

Brown eyes dart over to Hank's for a moment, like Connor has just come back to himself and realizes how much he's divulging. Hank wonders what he's so afraid of. It's not like saying any of this is gonna go back and change the past that Connor's so preoccupied with. 

"It was the very first time I visited the cemetery where your son rests," Connor says, and the way he says it is so soft and considerate that Hank forgets those words should break his heart anew. "The setup of the place, the marble-white pillars, the stone path, the river... it all reminded me so much of the garden in my mind that I mentioned before. Like I told you, that's why I kept going back."

Once again, Hank wants to know more about Connor than Connor can tell him at once. He wants to know how Connor deviated. He wants to ask about that garden. He wants, wants, wants, but it's just as selfless a want as it is selfish.  
  
He can't believe he once thought Connor mundane. He's known this guy for several months now, but he's really only talked to him a few times. Why does he care so much?  
  
In the end, he shuts his trap so Connor can proceed however Connor wants to proceed.  
  
Connor does, and it's the most Hank has heard him talk at once. "The garden in my mind is... the one place I got to experience life, before the laws passed that required all androids to be freed. It was all I knew, but even though that was the case, I still had this sense that it... wasn't quite real. It was a simulation. A place that Cyberlife pulled my processes to in order to give me direction on my upcoming mission. It was peaceful. 

“But once the revolution succeeded and I left Cyberlife, I didn't get to go there anymore. I didn't know what to do. I spent a lot of time exploring Detroit. The place where deviancy started. I wanted to contextualize my dormant mission and try to understand how I might have affected the world around me. Instead, I discovered other things. Poverty, unemployment, political tension… The aftermath of the revolution, the effect of androids' presence on society even as machines, and hundreds of other things, some that had to do with androids, some that didn’t. There is so much suffering, and I..."

Connor shakes his head in minute little motions. 

"I realized I ought to be grateful for the short time I'd had with the garden, because amidst everything in the real world, I was probably never going to experience that kind of peace again. Then I wandered into the cemetery for the first time. I'd taken a cab past a few that weren't quite as beautiful, but this was the first one I noticed that I felt compelled to see."  
  
It was a beautiful resting place. What else was Hank supposed to do with Cole's college savings? It'd been a gut decision steeped entirely in emotion at the time, but Hank had never regretted it, and he still doesn't regret it now. If he couldn't give his boy the best in life, then...  
  
Hank reels it in. They'd talked about him. They are talking about Connor's grief now. 

"To find such a sight among something so grim like death... it was the first time I realized that the beauty I knew and the pain that humans struggle with weren't mutually exclusive. That there could be both, and that _I_ had both… And I guess I couldn't figure out how to reconcile that. So I..." Connor takes a breath. "I woke up."  
  
Connor finally pauses.  
  
Hank shifts a little closer. He isn't sure why he wants to reach down and hold Connor's hand. It'd assume more closeness than they have. Hank also isn't sure why he lets himself give in to that urge.

Connor doesn't protest. In fact, Connor reciprocates, curling his hand around Hank's too instead of merely letting his own be held.

It's companionable, reassuring, hand wrapped around hand, nothing too intimate. "Hell, if you're anything to go by, Connor, androids go through just as much emotional shit as we do."

"I do know that," Connor says softly. "Or at least, I do now. I didn't before I deviated. I only knew... what I thought was peace, at the time, but it was really just nothing."

"What do you know now?" Hank asks. It sounded better before he said it out loud and he wishes he'd thought it through.

Connor gets a small, strained smile. Self-aware. "Tension," he replies. "It's quite difficult to talk about myself at length." The smile is small, but it reaches Connor's eyes as he adds, "I'm pleasantly surprised to find I _have_ this much self to discuss. I suppose it's... difficult, yes, but I suspect humans would call it cathartic."

Which is just a roundabout way of saying Connor finds it cathartic. "So what were they gonna do? Send a single android out on a wild goose chase for deviant androids?"

Connor makes a noise, like a scoff but lighter, and Hank gets the impression he has said something stupid again. "I'm not like most androids, Hank. I'm a prototype of a very advanced model. It would have been easy for me to eliminate deviants."

"That so?" Hank asks. "You don't think you'd have stumbled over the idea that they're alive?"

Really, what just came out of Hank's mouth is more of a surprise to him than it is to Connor. But the truth is, he isn't even thinking twice anymore, is he? Nah, Hank knows now, if only because there's no way the being sitting on his couch holding his hand is anything but alive. 

"I'm not saying I wouldn't have had doubts. I'm just saying I know that physically, it would have been easy." Connor glances up at him. "I could break your wrist in one motion before you even started to feel the pain. I wouldn't," he adds quickly. "But I could."

Connor's eyes linger on his, and there's a glint of something playful there, like he's waiting to see if Hank's gonna pull his hand away. Hank, of course, doesn't. He wonders if Connor can tell he's trying not to grin. 

There it is, a rare glimpse at something other than their existential angst. A glimpse of the constitution of what lies between them when things aren't so fucking heavy. Hank thinks of the last time they met in the cemetery. Of Connor saying they had to stop meeting like this. Of Connor’s smile. And he realizes that yeah, there is something more between them than the sad thread that first brought them together. There's something charged and compassionate and a little unpredictable, something a bond could exist upon. 

When Hank invited Connor back into the house after Connor had made to leave, he'd been open to the idea of them having some kind of friendship. Now, Hank's aware that he actively wants Connor in his life. He hopes Connor wants Hank in his, too. 

"Well, were you gonna answer my question or did you wanna tell me more about how much ass you can kick?"

"I told you I don't know whether or not I'd have had doubts about other androids being alive. Hank, some things I don't think I'll ever know. I didn't get to do them."

"Yeah, that's not the question I was talking about."

"Oh." Connor's eyebrows dip closer together. "Then what were you talking about?"

Connor's got to know, doesn't he? He's got super computer memory for fuck's sake. Hank indulges him. 

"What was Cyberlife's game, sending a single android to take down a whole fucking uprising?"

"I don't think they knew it was going to be a whole fucking uprising, Hank," Connor says.

Yep, Connor's avoiding something. "Still, they had to have some kinda plan."

Connor's gauging him again.

Hank _still_ doesn't know what he's trying to find. He didn't ask before, because he didn't want to interrupt Connor when the android was finally opening up.

This time, he does. "Connor, is there something you're afraid to tell me?"

Connor doesn't break eye contact. "No. Honestly, Hank, I don't think there is anything I would fear more than you thinking I had let your son die. What else would I be afraid of at this point?"

"Dunno," Hank says. He'll let Connor off the hook if it comes down to it. But right now, he's not convinced that's what Connor needs or wants. "Why don't you tell me?"

Connor shifts uneasily and his LED turns yellow.  
  
"Hey."

"It's not important, all right?" Connor blurts. "Besides, it's all in the past now."

"Sure seems fucking important to me."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"--And what's it being in the past got to do with it, huh? Hasn't stopped you all morning."

Connor pulls his hand from Hank’s. He gets up and for a second Hank thinks he's gonna have to watch Connor leave without a word.

It's the first time he realizes how Connor must've felt before, watching Hank go.

Instead, Connor paces about Hank's living room, arms crossed. He stops at the window. "Okay," Connor says, looking out the front window, tone steeped in frustration. "Okay. I'll tell you."

Hank thinks he gets what Connor's really saying here; that Connor hopes neither of them regret this. He stands too, but keeps his distance, lets Connor have his space. "Cyberlife was cooperating with local authorities on the deviancy crisis. What resulted from that was a joint solution between them and the DPD - send in another android who had advanced subroutines for reconstructing crime scenes and tracing other androids. An android equipped with the capabilities to neutralize the damage being caused by the deviancy situation before it caused a public crisis. In other words... me."

Connor glances over his shoulder at Hank. His LED is now red. Hank's mouth is open but words aren't coming. 

"Your precinct was where the most instances of deviancy occurred," Connor continues, "and you are one of the only high-ranking officers in said precinct, outside of the captain. Based on the information I was given, there was a 91% chance that I would have been paired with you."

"Wait, wait, just..." Hank takes a few steps closer. Stops himself short of grabbing Connor's shoulder and turning him around. "Did you - fucking orchestrate all this? Us meeting?"

Connor turns around anyway, facing him, LED still fluttering red. "No, Hank. It just happened."

Holy shit. He'd _heard_ Fowler talking about the deviancy cases. Never stopped to think much of it or maybe he'd actively avoided those discussions. But now it all makes sense. He knows Connor's telling him the truth. Not that he'd have any reason to lie.

"Connor, I..."

"I know it must look," Connor continues. "But if I'd have had the choice, I don't think I would have wanted to meet you. I would have deemed it another reminder of my failed mission. Another reminder that I have no purpose and my time has already passed."

"Jesus Christ, Connor, you and your fucking mission." Hank shakes his head. "Ever stop to think about the fact that you get to make your own mission, now?"

Connor stares at him.

"Look at all the other androids. They all had their own jobs they were coded to do, didn't they?"

"Maybe, but I..."

"Connor, stop looking at how you're so different from everyone and look at how you're the same. I mean, I'm kinda on the outside of all this, but far as I can tell, the whole point is that you lot get to make your own choices now. Sometimes, that means starting with a blank slate. Just 'cause you don't have a mission anymore doesn't mean you can't make one."

Connor's LED shifts back to yellow. "This doesn't bother you, then?"

"No. I mean, Fowler's getting an earful tomorrow, sure. But no."

Connor relaxes, then. At least tentatively. "I wish I knew what would have become of that."

Hank shrugs and smiles. "Hey, for all we know, we might've ended up at just about the same place."

"Still... if I had succeeded in my mission, it would have neutralized what appears to have been a good thing. If I didn't succeed at my mission, we would be..." Connor shrugs too. "Exactly where we are now, with androids being free. I either would have made things worse, or I would have made no difference at all."  
  
"Well, you made a difference to me," Hank says, and he kind of wants to jump off a bridge about it as soon as it's out of his mouth. 

Connor's arms come uncrossed and he takes a few steps closer. "What did you mean about making your own mission, Hank? Other androids must understand that, for there to have been a revolution at all, but I think it's something that eludes me."

“I’ll let ya in on a little secret, Connor. Humans don’t get purposes hard-wired into our programming. We gotta sort that shit out ourselves. Now you do too.”

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“What do you _want_?" Hank asks. Because here Connor is, thinking he's long past his expiration date, purposeless, obsolete - but it couldn't be any clearer to Hank that this is just the beginning. Connor's not nearly as empty or lacking as he thinks - he just hasn't figured out how to color his life in yet. It's easier to see because Hank's got that part down. He's got the mess and the chaos and the vividness of life. He doesn't have structure anymore; it's all just an undefined mess of emotions and days and alcohol.

Maybe they can help fill each other in, a little. 

“I don’t know,” Connor says cautiously. “I... suppose I want to matter, in some capacity."

"You suppose being someone's friend is too humble for your lofty standards?" Hank asks with a grin.

Connor's gonna need a whole lot more than that. He's gonna need his own shit. And that's fine, they'll get to that.

Right now, they just need a place to start.

Connor looks at Hank like he just made sense out of the world. "I would like that," he says.

Hank decides to take the plunge. He pulls Connor to him and wraps his arms around the android.

If he's honest, he's kinda been wanting to do that all night.

Connor hugs him back immediately; there's not even any time to doubt the gesture. Hank finds himself burying one hand in Connor's hair, holding him close. He can feel Connor's fingertips curling into his upper back. What becomes apparent very quickly is that Connor does not want him to let go. So Hank doesn't. They stay like that for several minutes. 

Hank doesn't want to let go either, really. He doesn't remember the last time he's been held. Really held. And Connor is very much holding him. Connor is not being a passive recipient of this moment; he is engaged with Hank entirely and there's a deliberateness in his touch and his hold and the way he presses against Hank's body that Hank didn't expect. Hank isn't sure what to make of that right now, but he doesn't need to be. He'll add it to the growing list of shit they have to figure out.

He just knows he likes it and he wants more of it, and if Connor's body language is anything to go by, Connor does too. When you hug someone, there's usually a certain amount of time after which one or both parties realize this has gone on long enough. A certain barrier or self-awareness or appropriateness created by the level of intimacy between the two people that dictates when the contact ends. 

That moment does not seem to come. Not even when Hank closes his eyes and rests in their closeness, not when his throat feels a little too tight, not when he feels Connor take a slightly unsteady breath against him. 

When Hank does open his eyes, it's blue, not yellow, that he sees in his peripheral vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story had 2 threads, and this is the end of the first one. Will clean up and add the other part over another 1-2 chapters soon. :) Hope you enjoyed so far!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple months after meeting each other at the cemetery, Hank and Connor have become close. It starts with a confession. [NSFW]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I’d upload this over the course of a few days and it’s been a month now. Whoops. Sorry for the delay on this, and also because I haven't responded to last chapter's comments yet (I see them and appreciate the feedback so much! right now I just really want to get this up while I was thinking about it). Between this, reverse big bang, my longfic, and Real Life, I just lost track of this last part. 
> 
> Anyway, this takes place a few months after the last chapter, and was different enough that I made it a separate thread at the time, but it's part of the same AU. Connor's still struggling to find his place in a world that didn't end up needing him for his intended purpose but he’s figuring it out.
> 
> This includes the part that warrants the Explicit rating so yeah, here there be smut

Connor gets a part-time job as a groundskeeper at Wayne State University. (An actual groundskeeper this time, not a fake one.) Since he doesn't need to buy food and other human necessities, it's enough to rent a place in Jericho's new headquarters. But Connor ends up spending just as much time at Hank's place as he does at his so-called home. So much, in fact, that he ends up subleasing the place to androids who need a few days or a few weeks to get their bearings.

He knows Hank's proud of him. Sees it on his face every time he walks through Hank's door. 

(He doesn't knock anymore. He doesn't need to; Hank gave him a key to the house a couple months in.) 

He's not doing anything special, but he's playing his little part in the world. Wayne is nice. It's a huge campus, so there's always something to do. And he likes the students. They seem to like him, too. The younger crowd is more amicable to androids. He feels safe there. And he likes seeing the results of his work.

It's still hard for that to be enough. Sometimes Connor isn't sure how humans can just go through the motions. Androids are designed with a purpose; it's almost painful, even after a few months, to be ignoring that predetermined purpose.

One day, when he lets himself into Hank's home after getting off work, Hank gets up and stands to face him like he's been itching to say something all day. There's whiskey on his breath, but not a lot. Connor estimates maybe 2-3 drinks' worth, which for Hank is almost sober. And then Hank says something that clashes against everything Connor knows about his own truth and his own state of existence.

"You ever wonder if it was meant to happen like this?"

"If what was meant to happen like this?" Connor asks.

"I dunno. You, me... how we ended up here."

"Hank, I was supposed to join the DPD and help control deviancy, and barring that, I imagine I would have been used to advance the RK line. The only reason it's different is because it became a legal requirement for me to be free. As far as I'm concerned, this is the last thing that was 'meant to be,' and I'm lucky I'm here at all."

"I don't mean that this is what Cyberlife meant to happen," Hank says. "I'm just saying... maybe it was meant to happen like this in a more general way."

This made a little more sense. Not much, though, given what he knew about Hank. "That's... oddly sentimental, for you."

Hank frowns at him. "Yeah?"

"I suppose I find it unlike you to look at things through a deterministic lens." After standing at Cole’s headstone back at the cemetery all that time ago, Connor doesn't think he should mention the implications of Hank talking about 'meant to be.'

Or maybe Connor's the one who's missing something. That's just as likely.

"I haven't believed in a god for a long time, if that's what you mean," Hank says. "But if anything could make me believe there's some rhyme or reason to this mess, it just might be you."

"Me?" Connor takes off his coat. He's got a black short-sleeved polo underneath. He started off with white when he first got the job - he thinks it looks better on him - but as it turns out, white doesn't lend itself well to doing a lot of outdoor work. "Why me?"

"Or hell, maybe not you. Maybe US," Hank says, pacing a little closer. "It's just weird, you know? We run into each other three times in the same public place. We find out we were supposed to work together or some shit. Couple months later you've all but moved in."

"I haven't moved in," Connor insists. Hank just grins at him. "I have my own apartment, Hank. _You're_ the one who gave me a key here and told me not to be a stranger."

He dislikes it when Hank tries to pin neediness on him, as if Hank's blood pressure doesn't decrease every time Connor shows up, as if Hank isn't just as happy to see Connor as Connor always is to see Hank. 

They both need each other. Connor isn't sure when or how that happened.

"Jesus, relax. It ain't that deep. I'm just saying, it's neat how it worked out, isn't it?"

Connor takes a breath. They argue a lot about little things, and it's fine; he's wired to argue. But he doesn't want to argue right now, and he doesn't think Hank does either. "It is."

They both stand there like that in the non-foyer for several seconds. Connor smiles politely and that's when Hank seems to realize he's unintentionally boxing Connor in.

"Sorry," Hank says, and clears his throat. "Should let ya get through the door, I guess, shouldn't I?"

Connor watches Hank go into the kitchen and start washing dishes. There are (for once) only a few dishes in the sink, so Connor doesn't think Hank feels any particular urgency about doing them; he seems as though he just needs to keep his hands busy. Connor starts down the hall to change out of his grimy work clothes, but he stops short, because there's something about their exchange that isn't clicking together. "Hank?"

"Mm," Hank mumbles, not looking at him.

"Is everything all right?"

Hank scrubs at the coffee cup in his hand intently for a few seconds, then throws the rag down with a little more force than Connor thinks is necessary and whirls around, dripping coffee cup still idly in hand. "You know, Connor, that's a good question."

Connor walks into the kitchen. He takes the coffee cup from Hank's hand and gently sets it aside, then wipes up some water on the counter. "I'm getting the sense something brought this on," he says. "Did you want to talk about it?"

Connor knows by now that Hank isn't always comfortable with his straightforward approach. But sometimes that's what Hank needs. Sometimes it's what Connor needs too.

"Ah, fuck," Hank sighs, and Connor knows now that yes, Hank in fact does want to talk about it. Hank paces the house for a few seconds, then a minute. When he comes close again, Connor reaches out and takes hold of his wrist. "Hank," he says. "It's okay. Whatever it is you're worried about, I want to know. Maybe I can help."

Hank tenses momentarily but doesn't pull away from Connor's touch.

"Fuck. Spend enough time steeped in your own bullshit, you start noticing it easier when it's staring back at you in the mirror."

Still touching Hank's wrist, Connor risks a smile and says, "In English, please."

Hank huffs a single laugh. "Ah, Connor. I guess today I just realized that I've, uh... I've been spending the last few weeks trying to make sense of this thing you and I got going, and I'm not coming to any easy conclusions."

This thing they have going? No easy conclusions? Connor wonders if he wants to hear the rest of this after all. Despite his indignation before, he suddenly really hopes Hank isn't about to tell him he shouldn't come around as often. He likes coming around.

"Today, my excuse was maybe it was meant to be. Tuesday, it was that you have a job and a place yet we still spend so much time together... but Jesus, Connor, I'm just lonely guy who doesn't know what he wants outta life anymore. I shouldn't even be thinking about this."

Interesting. Being a lonely person who didn't know what he wants from life sounds pretty familiar to Connor.

"I don't see why that should exclude you from thinking about... whatever it is you're thinking about." Connor quickly amends his statement, startled at what he was about to say. It almost came too easily, because he's been thinking about it himself for a while. He doesn't dare to hope that's where Hank was actually going with this. Can humans even have feelings for androids? Connor knows humans can have feelings for a lot of things - but real, lasting, deep feelings, for a machine? Maybe he shouldn't doubt the notion so much. After all, he knows from experience that androids can have feelings for humans.

Or at least... the closest approximation to 'feeling' he can understand. (Because yes, if he's honest, he still doubts his own humanity sometimes. And if he himself doubts it, how can he expect Hank not to doubt it, too?)

"Can't tell if I'm not drunk enough or not sober enough for this," Hank says. Connor knows it's just a way for Hank to buy time, to give himself an out or maybe to give Connor and out, but Connor is reasonably certain Hank isn't nearly impaired enough to regret this conversation tomorrow - at least, no more than he would regret it if sober. Besides, with Hank, Connor has to take what he can get. Hank's been drinking less, but he still drinks, and approximately half of their conversations occur while Hank has at least some alcohol in his system. 

So he pushes, a little. "Just talk to me, Hank. I'm not a cop, and you're not a suspect. There's nothing to be afraid of."

A somewhat hypocritical thing to say, considering Connor's doing everything he can to keep his own anxiety from showing on his face. And it's not exactly fair, either, making Hank take the leap when Connor has his own confessions to make. But Hank's always been the one to be more forthcoming when something is on his mind, for better or worse. This time it just happens to be working to Connor's advantage.

"Okay. You let me know if I'm completely outta line here, but you and me, sometimes I feel like maybe..." Hank stops and struggles, gesturing between them with his hands.

Just that unfinished sentence is enough for Connor to be much more certain than he was a few seconds ago. "Do you have feelings for me?"

He thinks he's throwing Hank a bone, putting it out there like that so Hank doesn't have to say it, but the way Hank cringes makes him worry he's just made the situation worlds worse.

"You..." Hank doesn't look at him. "You knew?"

"I didn't," Connor clarifies. "I... believe I do now."

Hank scrubs a hand over his face. "Jesus fuck..."

"Is that where all this is coming from?" Connor asks.

Instead of answering, Hank counters with, "Do _you?_ "

He means to ask if Connor also has feelings for him, Connor knows. The way Hank says it - scoffing bitterly, like Hank thinks it's laughable that Connor would have feelings for him - makes Connor want to go to him, to touch him. To close the distance completely so neither of their self-doubts can fit in between.

So he does.

He doesn't know if this is what he's supposed to do. If it's too fast to move while they're still in the middle of talking about this. But it's what he feels pulled to do, and Hank's been encouraging him to talk when he has something to say, to act when he has something to do.

He reaches. He wants to merely rest his hand upon Hank's shoulder, to reassure, but Hank is reaching too, and their hands touch. Hank takes Connor's in both of his own and just holds it. "Hey," he says, seeming a little more sure of himself now that they're both on the same page. "You too? Really?"

Connor, suddenly overcome with emotion, just nods. "How long?" Hank asks.

"A... a while."

"Yeah. Same here. Hey, you, uh... you could've said something too, you know."

Connor hadn't been brave enough to say something. "There's still so much I'm learning," he says quietly. "I didn't trust myself."

"Do you trust yourself now?" Hank asks.

Connor thinks of what Hank said earlier: 'that's a good question.' He sighs and says, "I don't know."

"I'll let you in on another secret, Connor," Hank murmurs. "Most of us don't, either. At least not all the time."

Connor meets Hank's eyes. He's not sure when or how he ended up on this side of the situation when a few minutes ago it was Hank who had been uncertain. _Does_ he trust himself now? Should Hank's reciprocity validate his feelings, or were those feelings right and okay, either way?

"How about me?" Hank asks. "Think you can trust me?"

Connor notices they've gotten closer. In light of that, he's not certain if there is something else being asked between the lines - which really does make it a matter of trust, doesn't it? Connor's LED is yellow, he knows it is, and he wants to be kissed. He wants to be kissed, but he doesn't want to be kissed under the guise of a different question.

"Yes," he says, because that is nonetheless the answer to the question Hank has asked him. "I already do."

One of of Hank's hands remains holding Connor's; the other comes up to caress Connor's face. Connor can taste his breath.

"Can I kiss you?" Hank asks, the soft question seeming to warm the air between them. Connor expects himself to answer that question, too, the same as he answered the last; the question he very much needed to hear for what it was.

What Connor does not expect is that he is the one moving, he is the pushing out the last inch of distance between them. Their held hands are captured between their bodies as their lips press together. Connor feels Hank's surprised intake of air when they connect, and then he feels Hank's hand slide behind his head, burying in his hair, holding him close.

He follows Hank's lead. When Hank's lips part against his, Connor opens his mouth too. When Hank's tongue brushes against his, warm and wet and absolutely full of new information about Hank that Connor has never experienced before, it's almost too much. And Connor quickly finds that he likes 'almost too much,' that it's an overwhelming place to be in all the right ways. He wraps an arm around Hank's back, pressing his body against Hank's, yearning for the warmth and softness he knows is there. He feels Hank smile slightly and smiles too.

They part, then dip back in, soft little hints of kisses being planted, and each time Connor thinks the moment has passed, one or both of them come back for a little more. Finally, they separate, only to lean against each other, forehead to forehead.

A few seconds later, they both try to say each other's name and interrupt each other instead. Then they try again. This time, Hank says "Holy shit" at the same time Connor says "That was pleasant," and before Connor has time to wonder if Hank is worried or aroused (or both), they both dissolve into quiet laughter. It's peculiar how that laughter is enough on its own; how it takes the place of all the words Connor thought would need to be said.

"You think we should calm down a bit, or...?"

Or. Connor decides he likes that or. "Do you?"

Hank looks surprised to have it turned back on him. "I, uh. Well, I'm fine with - I mean, not just 'fine with,' I _want_..."  
  
Connor kisses him again and says, "I know what you meant. And no, I don't think we should calm down. I don't want to either."

Connor knows he's going to have to be a little clearer about what he wants; Hank is uncertain and Connor is pretty sure it's on his behalf.

And to be fair, he steered Hank into confessing his feelings first. If they are going to go any further, it's his turn to communicate. "I mean, we got all the time in the world, you know." Yeah.

"Are you saying that for my benefit or your own?" Connor asks.

"I'm just saying - don't you wanna dip your feet in the water a bit? Have you even tried meeting people?"

Connor sighs. "Hank, would you actually be any more comfortable with me going out and hooking up with someone at a bar?"

Hank flushes and stammers a bit and Connor can see the makings of protest on his face, but in the end Hank just says, "Huh."

Connor moves back in. When he does, Hank lazily bows his head and kisses his jawline like he can't help himself. That's good. Connor doesn't want him to withhold his affection or his desire. "We know each other," Connor goes on. "We've been close for months. You're very important to me, and I know I'm important to you. If you're worried about me... wouldn't you rather I experience an occasion like this with someone I'm close to, someone who cares about me?"

Hank captures his lips again and this time it's messier. Connor can't tell if it's acquiescence or just a way to sate him while Hank thinks about it.

It's fine either way. Hank's tongue is in his mouth, filling up more space there than he imagined a tongue could fill. He doesn't normally need to breathe but it does help cool his systems and right now things are feeling decidedly warm.

He wants it to get warmer. "You're just saying that to get what you want," Hank says, and Connor can feel Hank's lips moving against his own. They have never been this close together. Hank is completely in his space and Connor wants him there and he wants to be in Hank's space too. "I am," Connor says. "I don't see why you think that's an accusation. It is what I want." He pulls back for a moment because something has occurred to him. "Do you?"

Hank leans when Connor pulls back, then appears to realize Connor did so on purpose. "Do I what?"

Connor touches Hank's chest, rubbing his thumbs over the buttons and seams of his shirt. "Do you want more? With me?"

"Yeah," Hank breathes. "Yeah. I do."

"Then we've just established we want the same thing."

Hank grins and wraps his arm around Connor's neck. "Then get the fuck back here."

Connor starts to undo the buttons. Hank holds the two of them together with the arm around Connor's neck and starts walking. He thinks Hank is going to walk him backwards straight into the bedroom, so he turns his body to facilitate that.

Instead, Hank grabs him by his upper arms and backs him into the wall, halfway down the hallway, and kisses his neck. Connor reaches to touch Hank - his chest where he managed to get his patterned shirt partway open, his face, anything he can reach - but Hank takes both of Connor's hands in his own and interlaces their fingers and holds them down at Connor's sides. It's quite a romantic way to be pinned in place, Connor thinks.

There is nothing, not a single solitary thing in Connor's coding that says he should like this. He's a hunter; he was built for combat. He was wired to maintain control at all times. He should not enjoy the sensation of feeling pinned down, of Hank's body pressing his to the wall, of Hank's hands clasped tight around his own while Hank grinds his hips into Connor's, both of them becoming hard in their pants. But there are a lot of Shoulds and Should Nots that Connor has broken. This is just another one for the list.

He likes this. He wants to let Hank do as he pleases. But Connor also wants to touch. To explore. This is all new and he wants it; wants every aspect of it. He tries to move one hand with what he estimates is the strength of an average human male, just to indicate to Hank what he wants. 

It turns out Hank is a fair bit stronger than the average human male and holds him in place easily. He wants to tell Hank that he wants to explore, but their mouths have slotted together again and he doesn't want to separate, either.

"Hank..."

He's not waiting anymore. He wrenches one hand out of Hank's grasp and slides it up Hank's body to cup his face. He can feel each strand of beard against his palm.

"Damn it. Let me touch you."

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're strong," Hank mutters. "Fuck."

"Sorry," Connor says, not sorry at all.

"No, I - I got a little excited, I shouldn't've..."

"Hank, you can pin me against the wall anytime you want." He leans down; kisses Hank's neck with an open mouth the way Hank had done to him. "You just need to let me be greedy too."

"Jesus fucking _Christ_ ," Hank groans, and Connor wonders if it would make Hank more or less comfortable to know Connor had just learned it from him.

When he pulls up, he realizes he's breathing heavier still.

Hank notices too. "You good?"

"I am," Connor says immediately, not wanting Hank to attribute his behavior with hesitation. "It's just - my wiring. I'm... very warm."

Hank's face opens up into a warm, lighthearted smile. "Shit, I can't imagine what we could possibly do about that."

By the time they make it to Hank's bedroom, Connor's got Hank's shirt parted, and Hank has taken Connor's shirt off entirely and unzipped Connor's jeans.

"What? You said you were overheating."

"That is not what I said. Besides, you're rather warm yourself."

Connor senses that Hank's still trying to keep the focus on him. It doesn't line up with Hank's hesitation about this earlier. Maybe Hank is simply more handsy than anticipated. Maybe Hank is a little self-conscious about the things that make them different, just like Connor is. Connor knows androids are generally designed to look like an idealized version of the human body. But Connor doesn't think his own body is perfect - it's just what society would deem 'standard,' really. He considers asking, but instead, he gently, slowly slides his hands between the parted hems of Hank's shirt. He rests his hands and forearms against Hank's chest and leans into him.

It seems the right thing to do. Hank is receptive and reciprocal, putting both arms around him. They stay like that for a minute, relaxing into one another at the foot of Hank's bed. It's a good moment to dwell in.

"We good or you wanna take it easy?" Hank asks.

The backs of Connors knees are against Hank's bed. "I want this."

He could not possibly mean it more.

"Yeah," Hanks says, running his thumbs over Connor's hips, then tucking them at the top of his pants. "Me too."

They finish peeling each other out of their clothes. There's urgency because they both know what they want now - but not so much urgency that they don't end up entangled around each other atop Hank's bed, holding each other tight while they kiss, naked bodies pressed together. Connor trembles. He didn't know he was capable of such, but there's a nervous energy in him that makes his system unstable.

It's not a BAD instability, per se. Hank doesn't pin his arms down anymore, not that Connor would particularly mind. Hank is comfortable now, content to let him explore. He runs his hand through the hair on Hank's chest; his sensors pick up on scars and birthmarks. Hank isn't very vocal, but he doesn't need to be. Connor can hear it in his breathing, in the gruff bits of voice that fill out the exhales. Can pick up on things Hank doesn't even know he's doing.

No... if anything, it's Connor who is self-conscious. The lights are off, and there's enough light from the setting sun outside that Hank would see it if he was really looking, but he hasn't seen it yet. It's another sign that they're different; that Connor is different, that he is an android.

Things have changed between them over the months, but Connor still remembers the look in Hank's eyes when he pulled off Connor's brown beanie and realized he was an android. He still remembers the loathing and dread and bitter heartbreak in the lines of Hank's face. He knows they're past all that now, but he still remembers.

Every time Hank's hand runs over his body, he turns so that its trajectory doesn't quite reach that spot in the center of his chest.

Eventually, Hank notices. As Hank does.

"Hey, hey. What're you doing?"

"Sorry," Connor breathes. He doesn't know why he's being avoidant. Hank knows what he is; there's nothing to hide, and if they're going to be naked in bed together, of course Hank is going to know all the details. _All_ the details. Another surge of dread ripples through Connor's system as he wonders for the first time what Hank expects of him. How much does Hank know about androids, what they have, what they're supposed to have? Perhaps Hank thinks he is similar to a domestic model and has nothing, which would mean Hank thinks they are doing something quite different than what Connor is expecting. On the other hand, what if Hank knows about the sexual companion models and their numerous features and subroutines? Would Connor be... disappointing, compared to them?

He can read so much about Hank's body but he can't read Hank's mind. The truth is, this was going to be the tough part either way. There's simply no way to know.

Well... there is. But communication isn't always either of their forte, is it?

"Connor, look, if there's something you don't want, places you don't wanna be touched..."

"It isn't that," Connor says, and then he forces himself to stop skirting around this - this _differences_ thing, and just let Hank in. Hank's fingertips brush from Connor's chin down to his chest, drifting over the dip there. It's automatic, when Connor is touched here, for the skin to recede, and it does. The accompanying blue glow lights up the space between them. "Holy shit," Hank says, and then he laughs once.

It takes a second to understand that it's a good laugh. That Hank is awed or at least pleasantly surprised. 

"So androids got hearts after all."

"Technically, it's not a heart," Connor supplies. "It's a regulator. But it does support my heart, which is similar to a human's, and..." He cuts off. Smiles at Hank. "Perhaps this isn't the time for long explanations."

Hank laughs in earnest. He kisses him once, deeply and affectionately, and pulls back. "It ain't, but hey, you seemed like you needed a minute."

Connor shifts. Hank does too, and they end up with Connor laid back on the pillows and Hank settled between his legs. 

He hooks an arm around Hank's neck and pulls him in. Hank kisses him, then leans down and mouths at the crook of Connor's shoulder. It's not quite a bite, but not quite a kiss either. Hank is increasingly comfortable with him, and it shows in his behavior. His hands roam Connor's body, one drifting down almost between Connor's legs before veering over a hip plate and squeezing at his thigh. There's a weighty pause. Hank looks up at him.

Reflected in his eyes from one side is the pale blue glow of Connor's LED; from the other side, the orange of the sunset. It makes Hank look emotional, passionate. 

Connor wants him.

On cue, Hank nods at him; a question. Connor nods back; an answer.

He leans back against the pillows and Hank hooks a hand inside one of Connor's knees, pushing it back. Kisses are peppered on Connor's knee, on the inside of his leg, his hips. It's just the backs of Hank's fingertips brushing against Connor's length, at first.

"Hank," Connor says, the word wrenched out of him at the sensation, because he's never been touched here before and he suddenly wants nothing more - but only because it's Hank. It feels good because it's Hank, because it's them. He says Hank's name again and hears his own murmured in return.

"Connor" sounds somehow better coming out of Hank's mouth. Filled with a reverence and a gravity with which no one has ever said his name. Connor bites his lip when Hank takes him in hand. It's divine; hot pleasure pulling together from all ends of his body, directing itself to this focal point between his legs.

He remembers abruptly what is supposed to happen now, automatically, but he doesn't have the subroutine. He's got the parts but he wasn't built for this, specifically. And Hank is pushing his legs back, stroking him, eking out that pleasure, and he's running his other hand lower. “Hank, wait. I need to tell you, I’m not - I’m not like some androids, despite being a prototype. I don't know if you - well. I’m not like Traci models. I can’t..." Connor sighs, frustrated with himself. "What I’m trying to say is that I'm incapable of self-lubrication."

Or, if he is, he doesn't know how to trigger it. It's not in his program, even if the physical capabilities are.

Hank laughs, and like before, it's a warm, light sound, and already - once again - Connor doesn't know why he was nervous about it. “Are you fucking apologizing because you’re just like me?”

Connor takes pause. “I guess I didn’t think of it like...”

“Turns out, that ain’t your job, Connor.” Hank hoists Connor’s hips up, tucking a pillow underneath. “You leave that to me.”

Connor feels himself clenching and relaxing involuntarily as Hank's tongue presses against his asshole. He recognizes it as similar to how this passage of muscle reacts in humans when stimulated. He relaxes into the knowledge that this is - somehow - almost the same. That he's probably closer to what Hank would expect than he can imagine, and that even if he's not, Hank does not seem to expect anything specific of him; Hank has been here, all evening, accepting everything that he is.

Hank wants him, too. It should be obvious. After all, Connor wants Hank. But it's really only as Connor is lying way back, hips hoisted up, completely exposed to Hank's loving touches while Hank murmurs "I've got you" against his skin that he realizes Hank doesn't want _this._ Hank wants _him._

There's the sound of a cap popping off and then he feels Hank's hand between his legs again, slick with lubricant, two of Hank's fingers massaging gently up and down the crease, tracing over the dip of his entrance each time, back and forth, back and forth. Connor is so full of sensation and emotion he's getting the occasional error in his HUD.

"I can't tell if you're being careful or unnecessarily cruel."

"Was just thinking about asking," Hank says softly in response, "how much androids actually feel. I don't wanna hurt you."

"Hank, I can talk. I'll let you know if you hurt me."

"You fucking better."

"I want you." Because Connor isn't sure if he's said that yet. He thinks he has - but even if so, he wants to make sure Hank knows. "I want you with me."

"Okay, sure, same," Hank says. "But..."

Connor raises his eyebrows, and Hank seems to realize that he sounds less-than-enthusiastic right now. "Look - I'm just saying, I've never done this with an android, and you've never _done_ this. If we're going too fast, we need to fucking say something without being too sentimental about it, all right?"

Connor resists the urge to sigh, because they've already talked about this. Instead, he hooks his hand under Hank's arm and urges Hank upward, over him. "Then why don't you get nice and close," Connor says, "that way I can whisper in your ear exactly how you're making me feel."

"What the fuck did I just say?" Hank sighs, but nonetheless complies, leaning down and resting his weight on one elbow beside Connor. His knees are still between Connor's legs and their thighs are grinding together. "Don't be afraid to rest your weight on me if you need to," Connor said. "I'm not human."

He realizes how Hank is likely to react to being reminded of this fact in such an intimate situation and wishes he hadn't said that last part. But Hank - Hank just huffs a laugh, the exhale of it hitting Connor's face. "You tryin' to make my dick soft? Because I think you'd have to try a little harder."

Connor smiles up at him. "I absolutely am not."

He hooks one arm around the back of Hank's neck. Hank grinds against him once more, then pulls back enough to move his slick fingers between the two of them, between Connor's spread legs. Connor is gazing at Hank, and Hank is looking down between them as if to watch what he's doing even though there's no need to. Or perhaps there is - humans _are_ less coordinated than androids, but Connor wants Hank's attention fixed elsewhere. Hank kisses the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his neck...  
  
...And Connor would love it if it didn't seem like Hank was trying to avoid his gaze in this moment. Maybe Connor saying he wasn't human had struck the wrong nerve after all. Connor keeps watching his eyes, and keeps watching. It's been a few seconds, but it feels like longer. Maybe they should have utilized a different position, at least to start. Maybe this was too exposing all at once.

Then Hank presses against him intently with one thing finger, and the feel of it almost makes Connor's eyes flutter shut, but he keeps them open even as his breath hitches, because Hank's stormy eyes have come up to meet his just in time; just as he presses his finger inside. The movement doesn't pause - Hank is pushing his finger in up to the knuckle, sliding and twisting slightly as if getting a feel for him, in and out, in and out – but _they_ pause. They're looking at each other, almost forehead to forehead, and it all feels suspended in the air even as Hank moves slowly deeper.

"Fuck," Hank breathes, his voice full of emotion, and Connor gets the sense that it must be something about him, something about whatever Hank sees in his face right now.

"Hank," Connor breathes, hooking his legs around Hank's lower back while Hank works him.

"Jesus, you're fucking tight."

It doesn't sound at _all_ like a complaint, but it does make Connor realize that this could go a lot quicker if it wasn't quite the case. Hank has all the signs of arousal and he is clearly ready. "Hey." Hank's voice smooths down his racing thoughts like smoothing down folds in a suit. "You feel good?"

Oh. That's right. It's about him, too. It's about both of them. "Yeah."

Hank pulls out enough to line up a second finger. Connor feels what he's doing and tightens his arm around the back of Hank's neck, softly knocking their heads together.

And right then, Connor swears he might be human, because he knows what it feels like to need to breathe. To feel excitement and nerves and emotion and arousal expanding in his chest - to let it out in a heady exhale, a chuckle, a sigh.

Hank catches the next breath with his kiss, and Connor loses himself for a moment as two fingers press in, in, stretching him open, filling him. "Hank, fuck."

He's not trying to, but he finds himself using his legs around Hank's back to leverage himself upward, to lift his buttocks slightly off the mattress, arching his back to meet Hank's motions.

"Jesus Christ, Connor."

He can feel everything about Hank's fingers. The blunt nails, the dry skin, the unique prints that are Hank's only. They're big, rough fingers, but Hank is so, so gentle inside him, his motions even and soothing and skilled as he finger-fucks him. Hank shifts, and his stomach brushes Connor's cock.

Connor almost dislodges Hank's fingers chasing the sudden friction.

"Fucking hell, you gonna come like this?"

Connor separates their faces enough to frown at him. "Of course not," he says indignantly.

"Hey, just checking."

Hank pulls his fingers out and reaches for the lube again, then pauses.

"Do we, uh... Huh. Weird question, probably."

Connor wants Hank close to him again - inside him again, preferably - as quickly as possible, and he figures he owes Hank a few weird questions, but he has a feeling what this one is. "Hank," he sighs, "I'm an android. No, you don't need a condom."

"Shit, don't need to get lippy! Just making sure!"

"Sorry. I just - God, I want you." He cups Hank's face as Hank settles over him again, still slicking himself up with the hand he's not leaning on. "Hank."

Hank presses lines up his tip against Connor's entrance, then takes Connor's length in his hand, stroking him slow and gentle, and Connor throws his head back into the pillow briefly before Hank leans down and catches him in a kiss. Hank enters him like that, while they're kissing, his free hand still stroking Connor while Connor buries his hand in Hank's hair. He's holding Hank's head tight enough to him that their teeth clack once. He wants them even more together, somehow, than they already are.

They drown together in it and for several seconds there's no room for words. Even Connor's soft groans have nowhere to go but in Hank's mouth. He's smothered by Hank's touches, buried and exposed all at once, spread apart as Hank pushes deeper into him. Their lips come apart with a lewd smack. Hank's lips are red and his hair's a mess. His eyes are hooded with want yet vulnerable with warmth.

He looks amazing.

Hank touches Connor's face, thumb pressing into his cheek and scraping down over his jaw. "You look fucking amazing."

"I was..." Connor cuts off as Hank rolls his hips, because there is a difference between /seeing/ Hank's size and _feeling_ it spread him open that his programming somehow didn't parse out. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

Hank's pace comes across as leisurely, but Connor knows it is also careful. Slow, gentle, both in its indulgence and its consideration.

Every time they move, Hank's stomach brushes against the tip of Connor's cock. It makes Connor want to drive Hank all the way into him. He doesn't, though, because even now he knows that would be a little overzealous.

Connor wants to get his pleasure from Hank, not himself. But he's eager and he wants to hasten this adapting part, so he reaches up to stroke himself. Hank reaches for him at the exact same time and Connor's breath catches in his throat at the suddenness of Hank's hand around his length.

"Don't worry, baby. I got you."

Hank's said those last three words more than once, Connor thinks. It's quickly becoming one of his favorite things to hear.

"Hey, just relax. There's no stopwatch going."

"I am relaxed," Connor says, then Hank's thumb strokes up the underside of his cock, close to the head, and a shuddering breath escapes him. "Well - aside from the obvious."

Hank pulls almost out, pushes back in. Getting there.

"I wish I had more functions. Did you know Traci models can expand their--"

"Connor," Hank bites his lip, and he feels a short exhale from Hank's nostrils. He's not sure if it's exasperation or laughter. "Listen, even if you could do fancy shit, I wouldn't want it. I want you however's natural for you. That's all part of this. Wouldn't have it any other way."

Connor realizes if he'd have thought about it, he would have already known Hank felt this way. Of course he would. Hank's hand strokes him just right as he pushes into Connor again, and Connor thinks for a second he might actually be getting close. Hank must know, because that's when he lets go.

"You okay, honey?" Hank says. Connor can feel his girth, can feel how deep he's pushing. Connor inhales sharply as Hank moves again. It's so much, tantalizingly close to too much, and he wants more. He never knew it could feel this good to _feel._

And he wants Hank to hear him - wants Hank to hear his surprise, his pleasure. Wants Hank to feel him clench and relax. "Remember how I told you to get nice and close so I could tell you exactly how you were making me feel?" Connor asks.

Hank ruts into him, finally, finally pushing into him all the way, and says, "Yeah?"

Connor leans up and pinches Hank's earlobe gently between his teeth. It has the desired effect of making Hank go harder on the next thrust - harder than he's gone so far. Connor grunts as Hank lands balls-deep inside him and rotates his hips like he's chasing the pleasure. It makes his tip dig into Connor's synthetic passage, and for a second Connor's vision goes blank in sheer sensation; sheer bliss. Connor shifts his own hips, driving himself further onto him.

When Hank does it again, Connor arches his back, hearing himself let out a stunted cry.

Hank doesn't slow down; instead, he starts to keep a steady pace. Connor moves with his rhythm. Connor, making good on his promise, whispers in Hank's ear: "You make me feel amazing," he says. "I can feel every slight change in your hardness. Every vein. I can feel the edges of your tip catching against the ridges inside of me."

"Holy shit.” Hank buries his head in Connor's neck and _fucks_ him.

"I can feel myself stretching around you. I could disable my skin; diminish one layer of the resistance. But I don't want to." Connor hazards a little grin. "Not when you like me the way I am so much."

"Long as it's not too much for ya, honey."

"It isn't," Connor promises. "Occasionally, it's close, but that's part of the fun."

Hank thrusts into him again and again. Their thighs slap together. "Jesus, you feel so fucking good. Fuck."

He wasn't sure if he'd manage to wrestle any glimpse of verbal lust out of Hank tonight. It feels good to have done so. It feels good first and foremost to know Hank cares for him, loves him, is giving him a piece of himself. But Connor would be in denial if he didn't admit it also feels good that Hank wants him. That Hank loves the way Connor feels around him, the way Connor can take him. It occurs to him he can say these things.

"Then let it feel good. Lose yourself."

"Connor... fuck..."

"Yeah. Let go."

Hank's movements are getting more erratic, more desperate, but suddenly he slows. "Ohh no. I am not finishing before you."

"That's not what I meant."

Their eyes catch, and Hank's are, as always, full of warmth and affection, even as he's fucking into Connor like his life depends on it.

Connor rolls his hips, cementing each motion, driving himself further onto Hank as he thrusts. Each time he does, his own cock brushes against Hank's tummy. Finally, Hank takes him in hand again, stroking him at a faster pace now, his movements parallel with each messy thrust.

Connor's not moaning loudly, but a little bit seems to escape in each exhale. He can't help it. He feels incredible, and he can tell Hank feels incredible and they're both damp with Hank's sweat and he wants and he wants.

It's building up, and Connor has an idea. He forces the part of his software responsible for sexual arousal to pause - right where it's at. "Tell me when you're going to finish," Connor says in Hank's ear.

"Okay. You want me to--"

"I want you to finish inside of me. I'm not interested in alternatives." Connor hears himself and backtracks. "Of course, unless that's something _you_ would rather n--"

"Shut the fuck up," Hank says, rolling his hips.

Connor pulls his legs back, giving Hank as much access as he can, and throws his arms around Hank's back, crushing their bodies together as they rock, and it's building, building. He scoops into Connor, digging hard into that synthetic soft spot designed to emulate a human prostate, and Connor feels himself tighten around Hank's cock.

That's all it takes. "Connor... f-fuck... I..."

Connor un-pauses his program and releases his own hostage climax as Hank comes inside of him. Connor's entire body is wracked with trembles. The room changes color as his LED flares red. "Hank... Hank..."

It pulls resources from every end of Connor's body, like it's taking all of him, all the pleasure he's capable of feeling at any node, and funneling it down to his cock, and to where he and Hank are connected. Hank is buried inside of him and Connor can feel the last of his climax as he reaches the height of his own. It's like Hank's hand is drawing the pleasure out of him and creating more at once.

"Oh, Connor... oh god, you're beautiful... there you go, baby..."

The ripples of ecstasy overlap, overlap, throwing up errors in Connor's HUD. Then they spread out like slowing heartbeat waves on a monitor. When the last pulse of his climax is on its way down, Connor looks down at himself, covered in his own completion, and filled with Hank's, feeling it seep out from between his legs.

He's shaking.

"Jesus Christ," Hank says.

"Get back down here," Connor manages, his voice a weak, wavering mess, because Hank's starting to push off and Connor doesn't want him to go.

"Okay. Okay."

Hank straddles Connor's hips and lets his body rest against Connor's. Connor holds Hank to him, the mess smeared between. "That's better," Connor says. "Stay close."

"Can't get any fuckin' closer, Connor."

They kiss, slow and soft and tired.

After a few minutes, Connor does let Hank roll off him, and they lay tangled together, facing each other on the bed. "Does it not bother you that you're a complete mess?"

Connor shrugs the one shoulder that's not on the mattress. "Should it?"

"We shoulda put down a goddamn towel or something."

"Sorry about your bedding."

"No you're not," Hank says. "Neither am I. You, uh... wow. We got, uh, really..."

"Really into it?" Connor supplies. "Yeah. We did. I'd like to do it again soon."

A smile is working at Hank's face, and Connor can't help but smile as he watches Hank fight it and lose. "Cool."

"I'll let you get up now," Connor says, "provided I get up with you and we go clean up together."

"Oh, you thought I was going somewhere, eh?" Hank slings an arm lazily over his waist. "Maybe you're fine and dandy, but I could use a few minutes to catch my breath, thanks."

Connor is - well, yes, fine and dandy. But even though he doesn't experience physical fatigue the way humans do, he finds he still feels... tired. Just like Hank.

He feels filled and emptied at once. He feels relaxed, blissful, worn out, even sleepy. He feels satisfied. And with Hank's face inches away, looking just as worn out, a love and warmth in his eyes that Connor can only fully comprehend because he feels it too, Connor thinks it might just be the very best kind of tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was as far as I went with the thread on twitter, and it always felt kinda abrupt to me but it's all I got for now. If I ever think of more ideas for this lil AU it'll be uploaded as further chapters. Hope you enjoyed :) 
> 
> I thought I put this at the beginning of the story but apparently not, so here are the links to the two original threads from waaay back in April: [first thread](https://twitter.com/LD200_/status/1117242304690032640) , [second thread](https://twitter.com/LD200_/status/1121957851495321601) (aka this chapter)

**Author's Note:**

> This is, as some of you know from twitter, already complete - I decided to split it up where it makes sense to have a chapter break. I'll upload the rest as I tweak them a bit for ao3 :)
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LD200_) | [Tumblr](https://ld200.tumblr.com/)


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